The veteran of the Argentine scene on latest LP DÍA3 and why he had to break up Illya Kuryaki, the band that helped launch his career

“Look at this amazing Joe Arroyo vinyl that I brought back from Peru,” Dante Spinetta enthuses over Zoom. “I found this record store in Lima and went crazy. I ended up buying 40 albums of salsa and Peruvian cumbia.”

At 49, Spinetta is a veteran of the Argentine scene, a pioneer of the expansive fusion of styles that has become the norm in Latin music. The son of rock icon Luis Alberto Spinetta, he was in Peru as part of the on-and-off touring he does with his former band, Illya Kuryaki and the Valderramas.

He shows me another LP — a classic Eighties album by Puerto Rican bandleader Bobby Valentín — and explains how difficult it is to find salsa vinyl in Buenos Aires. The real reason behind our conversation, however, is the release of DÍA3, his sixth solo album, and the final installment in a trilogy that began in 2017 with Puñal, a comeback album that reignited his career in Argentina on the strength of the achingly beautiful ballad with strings, “Soltar.”

Spinetta was only a teenager when Illya Kuryaki dazzled Latin America in the Nineties with albums like the hip-hop manifesto Chaco and the progressive experimentation of Versus. DÍA3 takes funk as its main compass, but also showcases Spinetta’s omnivorous musicality with elements of tango on opening track “Pensando en Ella,” the post-disco exuberance of “Starlight,” and the bolero-meets-rap disruption of “El Reset.”

The singer, rapper, and songwriter talked to Rolling Stone about the creative detours behind DÍA3, and why the split of Illya Kuryaki was both inevitable and healthy.

The new album highlights your command of funk and hip-hop, but there’s also a subterranean layer of sadness in most of these songs. Where does that come from?
The theme of this record is resurrection. The title alludes to the third day, which spiritually is the day when life vanquishes chaos, or death. It also marks the resurrection of Christ.

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I was going through a breakup when I started writing these songs. I fell into a void of frenzy and loneliness, compounded by the excess of information that we experience on social media. I didn’t want it to be a sad record, but the melancholy vibe slipped through my fingers like a dark water that could not be contained.

I’m slightly obsessed with the lore of artists who finish an entire album, then put it aside and start over from scratch. It happened with Nathy Peluso’s Grasa, and now with DÍA3.
Initially, it was going to be a straight-ahead funk record, almost like a sequel to Mesa Dulce, my previous album. But I recorded the 12 tracks thinking of her. And the more I thought of her, this gate opened up, intimately linked with the spirit of Buenos Aires.

The first track, “Pensando En Ella,” is a fusion of R&B with tango. It touches on the melancholy vibe of life in this city; everything you gain and lose along the way. Suddenly, I started questioning myself: “I think this album wants to go in a different way.” I put the finished songs on the back burner and recorded 13 more. That’s when the DÍA3 concept popped up. It also alludes to the closing of a trilogy that started with Puñal and Mesa Dulce. I like the Star Wars-like concept of the three episodes.

The cosmopolitan fusion of styles is something you’ve been doing since the beginning of your career.
I loved the idea of playing with the melancholy tinge of different eras, bringing tango and bolero into the mix. I had already mixed Peruvian cumbia with hip-hop a few years ago. Musically, there’s a side of me that lives in the past. I listen to Fania records avidly, always looking for that rare Ismael Rivera vinyl, or spending $300 on the kind of exclusive Prince CD that came out on NPG Music Club. On a production level, I’m looking for new ways to tackle texture. Except for the beats, the entire album was played live. I usually go to Minneapolis or Prague for the strings.

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Classic Illya Kuryaki albums like Versus and Leche inhabited both the Anglo and Latino worlds.
Growing up listening to music in both Spanish and English is a crazy experience. We have a rich background in Latin America – it’s like a big plus, and I like using it to my advantage. The concept doesn’t change: I’ve remained a student of sound, learning from the masters of past and present. Remaining humble and faithful to the desire to learn. That’s what keeps me fresh.

Was it necessary for Illya Kuryaki to split up? Couldn’t you have divided the albums in two and incorporated your solo material?
Illya lives on whenever we go on tour together, and that’s the aspect we enjoy the most. I love Emma [Emmanuel Horvilleur]. He’s my brother. Our fathers were best friends before we were born, and we’ve been best friends ourselves since childhood. But you also have to respect the fact that when the chemistry is not there in terms of spending an entire year making an album together, it’s better not to spoil the whole thing just to keep the train going. You could end up destroying the legacy. We knew that we had different musical interests, and we’re like a couple that split up but have children together – in this case, the records that we made. We want what’s best for those children, and we can honor them by sounding better than ever in concert.

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Admittedly, it would be more profitable to bring Kuryaki back.
It would be great for business, yes. But my concept of fortune right now is being able to do exactly what I want. Going to bed at night and feeling proud of the road I chose. We’ve also had the privilege of getting Kuryaki back together with no new singles or doing any press — no explanations given. There’s something magical about that, almost like Daft Punk. They take the helmets off and fade away.

Your father left us 14 years ago at the age of 62. He was probably the greatest icon of Argentine rock. I cannot even begin to imagine what it was like to grow up with him.
Both my mom and dad left this world way too early — they were about the same age when they passed. It’s madness, brother; really unfair. My Dad taught me how to fly, and I was left with the need to appreciate the times that we got to spend together. He was heavily medicated and in pain when we had our last conversations. When that happens, you definitely don’t waste time talking about money or Grammy Awards. You talk about family, and love, and music. At one point I told him he had changed the world with his art. He just looked at me and smiled.